


The Fox and the Count

by Ravenhoot



Series: Ill-Fitting Pants (And Other Dire Hideous Clothes) [1]
Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV), A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket, All the Wrong Questions - Lemony Snicket
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Heavy Angst, Implied Sexual Content, Kitlaf, Strong Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-04-25 17:42:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14383740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ravenhoot/pseuds/Ravenhoot
Summary: The tragic love story of Count Olaf and Kit Snicket, beginning with the night at La Forza Del Destino and ending on a coastal shelf.This is more of a hybrid between the books and the TV series. I've taken bits and pieces from each media and blended them into my own take on how things might have and should have gone.There will be spoilers so just to be on the safe side, it's recommended that you've at least watched the TV show before reading.Rated M for sensuality (no smut).Two new chapters added January 2019!





	1. Say Something I'm Giving up on You

Kit sat in the opera box as if nothing was amiss. If all went well, their enemies would be vanquished that very night and the discord brewing within their organization would be snuffed out. She had slipped Beatrice the box of poison darts without Esmé noticing, which was crucial lest the city's sixth most important financial advisor tip them off that something was wrong. She glanced down at the private box across the theater under the guise of looking at her playbill to see who the understudy for the principal dancer was. According to the plan, Beatrice was supposed to take him out first. Out of habit, she glanced over to the Count and Countess’s box to catch the eye of the Viscount. They often used their looking glasses to communicate during the operas, instead of using them to watch the performances. When she saw him smiling warmly at her, she had to maintain her composure and not let a sound of her shock escape her as she saw Count Crivelli suddenly go limp and slump from his seat. Olaf barely had time to react to his father’s predicament when his mother, the Countess, mirrored her husband’s involuntary behavior. Kit recognized the effects of the very same poison dart she'd just given Beatrice and knew how effective they were. Even the tiniest of pricks was lethal.

The middle Snicket surveyed with concealed horror as the Viscount became an orphan… and, she supposed, the next Count Crivelli. She couldn’t see him in the box, but she assumed that was because he was on the floor with his dying (or already dead) parents. There was a third dart bobbing slightly from impact into the now-vacant chair that was occupied not moments before by the Viscount himself. The sight of a third dart caused her confusion and alarm. There were only two darts in the box she'd given Beatrice. Two darts for two intended targets. This was not how this night was supposed to go. She sat in her opera box for the duration of the evening, overanalyzing what went wrong in the sullied assassination attempt on the man with a beard but no hair and the woman with hair but no beard.

 

**************************************

She originally had plans to meet up with Viscount Crivelli and his family after the opera. It was a tradition of theirs that whenever a new performance premiered, she would accompany the Crivellis to their favorite Italian eatery for gelato. As their son's betrothed, she was well liked by the Count and Countess. Olaf's mother had already gushed on more than one occasion how excited she was to have Kit as a daughter-in-law. But that would never happen now, she realized. She tried to steady her breathing as she approached the door to their opera box. After all, she wasn’t supposed to know anything was wrong – she had only been looking in the direction of their box because she was waiting to see the fatal blow of the poison dart hit its mark in the man with a beard but no hair, whose box was directly below the Crivelli’s.

 _Breathe_ , she told herself. _Remember everything you've been taught. Your breathing and your eyes can betray you. Mask them!_

She knocked lightly on the door and found it partially ajar, so it swung forward slightly from the momentum of her knock. That was her first clue that something was seriously wrong. Reginald should be standing outside the door, but he was nowhere to be found. The sound she heard from within would haunt her until her last breath, of that she was certain.

Sobbing. Insuppressible, heart-wrenching sobs from the man who was always so polished, so composed, that she scarcely believed he had the ability to cry before that night. She took a few tentative steps into the box, unsure if she should announce her presence or leave him to grieve privately. Before she could decide, she caught the sound of her name, much more coarse and pained than she had ever heard it before.

“Kit?”

She moved to sit by him. He was slumped on the floor, cradling his mother’s head in his lap. She lightly rested her hand on his shoulder and felt him tense initially then relax upon realizing it was, in fact, Kit. She couldn't imagine how he felt. Granted, she'd lost her parents, but to natural causes. Despite everything, she had to admire the handiwork of the darts – such a neat, effective killing tool that left practically no mess. The only signs of their lethality was the tiny red puncture marks and the sickly green and purple hue taken on by their victims. But they were used on the wrong people, she reflected. Kit looked once more at the third dart, presumably meant for Olaf, still sticking out from his seat. If he hadn't slid out of his seat to try and help his parents, he'd be as dead as they were. She suddenly felt white hot rage boil inside her as she turned to look at the Baudelaire’s box. Beatrice was the wielder of the darts – so if she had hit just one of the Crivellis, that might have been explainable as poor aim (despite her having excellent marksmanship)… but all three of them? No, this was intentional. Kit couldn’t believe it… Beatrice was her friend. She'd been there when Kit had gotten engaged to Olaf and had congratulated her. How could her brother’s beloved do something so wicked? They’d had an airtight plan… and now who knew when their next chance at their enemies might come again, she thought bitterly as she imagined the now vacant box that had contained the true targets. 

Much as she tried in the weeks that followed, she remembered very little of what happened during the rest of that fateful evening at the opera house. Everything blurred into each other. But she did remember, quite vividly, how Olaf had closed the magnificent double doors to his parents’ manor home after the funeral and refused all visitors, including her. 

**************************************

In the months that followed his parents’ deaths, Olaf grew darker and surlier. Kit worried for him. She made excuses for him and tried to get him to stay active in V.F.D. to keep his mind busy. Some days, she was successful, but more often than not, she wasn’t. He seemed to be developing an obsession with fire. Sure, they all had that, but most of them sought to extinguish fires whereas Olaf grew more interested in how to create them. A rift was forming in their noble organization and Kit feared the murder of Olaf’s parents only made it that much worse. What she didn’t yet know what that a certain sugar bowl had gone missing from Esmé Squalor, another act at the hands of Beatrice Baudelaire (but that's a story for another time). Between those two cataclysmic events, their alliance of associates was holding on by a thread, a phrase which here means “anything that went wrong was likely to split the organization in two.”

Still, Kit Snicket tried to be optimistic, even as she watched the Crivelli manor descent into neglect and disrepair and its heir likewise. She couldn’t bring herself to lose hope in him, despite all of the wicked things she heard he was responsible for. Rumors began to spread like a forest fire about why the Crivelli manor grew shabbier and darker. The most common whispers through the city were that the orphaned Count had gambled most of it away and what he hadn't gambled, he'd spent on liquor. She tried to drown her suspicions as to why her beloved’s home was falling into more serious states of shabbiness and how the Baudelaires had managed to build a spectacular mansion in the middle of the city proper. She told herself it must be because Bertrand’s business had taken a dramatic increase in sales. She refused to even entertain the thought of the alternative. The Baudelaires just weren’t those types of people… They were honest and kind, not murderers and thieves. 

She saw Olaf so seldom due to being sent on assignment after assignment that kept her out of the city. She strongly suspected this was intentional to try to keep her away from him. When she would see him, he would always come to her apartment. One night, she went to the Crivelli manor unannounced. She wasn't sure if he would even let her in, but to her surprise, he did. She stood in the foyer and found she barely recognized the house at all. What had once been a meticulously kept home full of warmth and life was now empty and cold. She caught her reflection in a grimy mirror hung in what used to be a magnificent parlor and was surprised to see a look of pity upon her face. She looked to the spot on the wall that had once held a photograph she loved. The only evidence that it had ever been there at all was the slight discoloration of the wall around the negative space that once held the frame. She saw Olaf approach from the mirror and turned to face him. 

"You're making that face again," he said by way of greeting. 

"What face?"

"The one where your eyebrows are scrunched and you’re frowning.” 

Kit didn't know what to say, so she said nothing. 

"I know what you're going to say," Olaf continued. Kit found that hard to believe, since she herself didn't know what to say. "You're going to say that you lost your parents too and that it gets better. It gets easier. But I'm not as strong as you, Kit." 

It pained her heart to see him like that. So broken. She hadn't even considered comparing the loss of her own parents to this. Perhaps it was because she had inadvertently had a part in it, although she would never admit her involvement to him. She could only pray he never found out from anyone else. 

"Well, you didn't come here to watch me wallow in self-pity," Olaf guessed. 

"No," she replied quietly. 

"Well then, why are you here? I have nothing left to offer you."

"You know it was never your wealth or status I cared about. It was just you," Kit said sadly. 

"I know. But I honestly don't even know how much of me there is left."

"I came to offer you this," she said quietly as she reached into her pocket and held out her hand. In her palm was the stunning engagement ring he'd given her what felt like a lifetime ago. 

Olaf recoiled slightly as if the ring was a snake that was ready to strike. 

"That's yours," he mumbled. Kit realized how it must look and hurried to explain.

"It was your mother's. I don't feel right keeping it. I'm not giving it back because I don't love you. I'm giving it back because I  _do_. I don't presume to know what this cost, but I know it's worth enough for you to live comfortably, at least for a little while. It feels wrong to have it when you're living like this." 

Olaf looked around the room at the crumbling wallpaper and dusty floors. He scoffed slightly. "Better not give it back to me. I'll just sell it for booze and gambling money," he growled with disdain. 

"O, I don't believe those awful things the  _Daily Punctilio_ has to say and you shouldn't either." Olaf's face softened slightly.

"Dearest Kit," he said, gently placing his hands on her shoulders. "Once upon a time, we were going to live happily ever after... but that ship didn't just sail. It sank." 

He leaned forward and kissed her forehead. He reached out and closed her palm with the ring inside. "Keep it," he said. "Or sell it. Or use it as a fishing lure. It's yours to do whatever you want with it."

Kit slipped the ring back into her pocket and slowly walked through the front door. She turned back, one hand still on the brass door handle and said, "Jacques and I are having lunch tomorrow before he leaves for an assignment in America. Care to join us?"

Olaf shrugged slightly and simply said, "We'll see." 

"I know what that means..."

"What does it mean, then?" He asked testily. 

"It means you're not coming."

"Of course I'm not coming. I'm not going to sit with you and Jacques and have small talk over bitter tea and paninis and pretend life is grand." 

"Olaf, please don't do this."

"Do what, Kit?" He hissed. 

"Don't push me away..." She pleaded.

"You've done that yourself. Ever since the night at the opera, you've been distancing yourself. You know exactly what you've been doing."

"Olaf, please," she whimpered. "You're upset. Let's just talk about this later."

"There's nothing left to talk about. You don't have to explain - I get it. I'd choose them over me too."

"Th-them?" She stammered. 

"The  _volunteers_ ," he growled with a venomous hiss.

Kit gasped. Was she choosing them over him? She told herself no, of course not. She was trying to choose them  _and_ him, but she didn't know how to make him see that. 

"Olaf, we're _all_ volunteers. That includes you."

"How can you defend the same people who  _tried to kill me_?!" Olaf roared. 

"I'm not defending them!" She cried. "Not all of them knew what was really happening! I don't even know who knew what anymore. I just... I just w-want things to go back to the way they used to be."

 A clap of thunder abruptly cracked and made them both jump in surprise. Olaf's anger seemed to deflate and he sighed. 

"Olaf?" Kit said uncertainly. He looked at her but didn't answer. "O... we can still fix this. I don't want to give up on you. I won't." 

Wide, fat raindrops began to fall. 

"Olaf," she tried once more, "please say something."

He looked at the ground as the rain intensified. When he finally spoke, Kit had to strain to hear him above the howling wind and rainfall.

"I will love you always, Kit... but I can't love you the way you deserve."

Her lower lip trembled and she nodded. She pulled the collar of her coat up to cover her face from the stinging rain and walked to the corner of the block where she got into the driver's seat of her brother's faded yellow taxi. He wanted to call out to her, but what he'd said was true - he had nothing left to offer her. Olaf watched until the car was far enough away that he couldn't tell which set of tail lights were hers. Back inside the house, he stood for a moment and surveyed the crumbling foyer. Screaming with rage and anguish, he seized a vase of long-dead flowers from an accent table and threw it against the wall, where it broke with a satisfying sound of shattering glass. He collapsed on the staircase, resting his elbows on his knees. He hung his head in his hands and bellowed a wordless cry of despair.

**************************************

Weeks turned into months. Months turned into years. People avoided speaking of the dilapidated manor on the south side of town. The more time passed, the less Kit saw of Olaf. When she would see him, he was like a shell of his former self. Though he was only in his early thirties, his hair had begun to gray. The name "Crivelli" had been forgotten - he was simply Count Olaf. But without the prestigious lifestyle that accompanied a count, the honorific felt as hollow as he did.  

Lemony criticized Kit for having the wool pulled over her eyes, a phrase which here means “believing that Olaf was still a kind and redeemable person.” He would leave her alone, however, when she reminded him that the woman he loved most desperately was married with two children and had a third on the way, so who was he to lecture her about judgment of character.

And so it came to be that, despite the threat of warring factions forming within V.F.D., construction on their secret headquarters deep in the Mortmain Mountains was completed on schedule and an extravagant masquerade costume ball was to be held in celebration.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Further A/N:  
> There is a decent gap between Auld Lang Syne and this story. In the first work, Beatrice is still romantically involved with Lemony and in this one, she is already married to Bertrand. I may write something to go in between to explain why Kit and Olaf remained engaged all that time but never married, but in case I don't - my thoughts were that something VFD-related always got in the way and they'd had to postpone it several times.
> 
> Chapter title credit to A Great Big World.


	2. The Tear in My Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I know in the show, the masquerade ball at VFD headquarters occurs "before the Baudelaire children were born," but I moved it to just after Sunny was born.

The journey to the Mortmain Mountains took several days; traveling through the Hinterlands was no easy task. Fortunately, the Caligari Carnival was situated less than a day’s drive from headquarters, which is where Kit Snicket was currently stationed under the guise of Madam Lulu – Fortune Teller Extraordinaire. The setting sun painted a stunning mural of pinks and oranges across the Hinterland desert. Her brothers were due any minute. Lemony had wanted to go straight to headquarters, but Jacques had persuaded him that stopping at the carnival would give them a chance to rest and visit with their sister. They would sleep there for the night and begin the last leg of their journey into the mountains the following morning.

Kit roused from her unplanned nap when she heard the car tires crunch on the gravel outside the fortune telling tent. Her book lay open, face down in her lap. She was still groggy when her younger brother entered the tent. He lifted the book from her lap and closed it with a snap. She knew he must be upset, since he didn't even bother to mark her place with his finger or a scrap of paper. 

"Kit." 

"Brrr," she said in reply as she pretended to shiver. "No, 'Hi, sister. Good to see you'?"

"There are three bungalows prepared for visitors, yet last I checked, you only had two brothers."

"I can't have visitors other than you and Jacques?" 

"Kit," he began again. "You're my sister and I love you. I just think you make some foolish decisions, that's all."

"Foolish like carrying a torch for a married woman with children?" 

Lemony's expression turned stony and Kit immediately regretted her words. She knew her brother had good intentions but one thing she would not tolerate was hypocrisy. Rather than argue a moot point, as she knew that neither of them would back down, she decided to tread on lighter waters, a phrase which here means, "change the subject to something more pleasant."

"Where's Jacques? Shouldn't he have been right behind you?"

"He stopped about a mile back. Why? I have no idea. He knows we're on a tight schedule."

"Oh, relax, L. You're far too wound up."

No sooner had she finished speaking did they hear the sound of a car approaching. She knew it was her twin brother from the sound the taxi door made when it creaked open. She'd know that sound anywhere. It had belonged to their father and as the eldest, Jacques took possession of it when Mr. & Mrs. Snicket died.

Jacques entered the tent moments later with a handful of tiger lilies clutched in his fist. He flourished them dramatically at Kit. 

"For you, dearest sister."

Kit laughed softly and accepted the flowers. "Why, thank you, brother. You're too kind to me." 

"Flowers? You stopped for flowers?" Lemony asked incredulously. 

"They're her favorite!"

Lemony rolled his eyes and muttered, "Twins..." 

Kit made short work of finding a receptacle for the flowers and putting the tea on. If there was one thing she and her brothers had in common, it was their love of bitter tea. 

A short time later, she sat with her two brothers in the front room of the fortune telling tent, anxiously sipping her tea and listening for the sound of approaching automobiles. She hoped she could get Lemony and Jacques settled in their own quarters for the night before her next guest arrived. 

Her mind wandered and soon, she forgot what she and her brothers were talking about. She found herself distracted with memories of simpler, happier times. Like the time her training class had successfully put out their first fire and celebrated long into the night. Or the time when she and Josephine Anwhistle snuck into the zoo to take photos with the polar bear just because Ike had wagered it couldn’t be done. Or back when she took midnight strolls with her beloved and he’d pick her tiger lilies as they walked around the edge of the lake. She glanced at the flowers Jacques had given her and smiled.

Both her twin brother and Olaf knew she loved them, but only Olaf knew why. To Jacques, they were just a flower his sister was fond of. But Olaf knew that she liked them for their vibrant orange color, which always made her think of his nickname for her – Little Fox. Aside from it being her name, kit is also the term for a baby (or little) fox. She had laughed when he first called her that and retorted with, “So what does that make you then? The hound?” She smiled into her tea until she realized that both of her brothers had stopped talking and were looking expectantly at her.

“Sorry… what?” She said sheepishly.

“What were you daydreaming about, little sister?”

“First of all, _big_ brother, you’re only older by seventeen fifteen minutes! And second of all, just remembering happy memories. It’s been _so_ long since the three of us were together.”

“Ah, yes,” Jacques said in agreement. “The good old days, as it were.”

Lemony said nothing, but that wasn’t unusual. He spoke seldomly, as he was usually calculating and trying to plan for every possible scenario. Of the three of them, Lemony was by far the most suspicious. 

“I’m going to bed,” he announced in his deep baritone voice that was smooth as freshly churned butter. “I want to reach headquarters by noon so we need to leave before dawn, Jacques.”

The eldest Snicket sighed and accepted his brother’s lead. He gave Kit an apologetic look as he handed her the teacup and saucer. Kit watched them retrieve their bags from their respective cars and retreat into their tents for the evening. Tent was a general term – they were furnished with all the modern comforts one could need, including electricity and running water. They were simply designed to look like tents to fit the carnival motif. In reality, Caligari was more of a campground that just happened to have a carnival attached to it. It was where Kit had been stationed as “Madam Lulu” for the past six months and despite it being in the middle of nowhere, she’d developed a certain fondness for it.

Barely half an hour had passed since her brothers withdrew to their own sleeping quarters when a long, black car approached the carnival. Kit’s pulse quickened with anticipation; it had been the better part of a year since she’d seen him. Shortly after the invitations for the masquerade ball had been sent out (by no fewer than six separate fortune cookies that one had to open prior to receiving the next, each containing a date, time, place, etc. so that their enemies could not rain on their parade, a phrase which here means, “show up uninvited and ruin the party,”) he'd phoned her to ask if they could talk. She had never truly given up on him, but she could no longer turn a blind eye to his mounting treachery, and they’d grown apart. Over the past year, she’d been spending more and more time with Dewey Denouement, a man who was as gentle as he was intelligent, and they’d been getting along famously. Still, she couldn’t deny that her first love was and always would be Olaf. As such, she felt she owed him a chance to “clear the air” as he’d put it. She'd agreed to at least hear him out. It had been very unexpected to suddenly hear from him. She suspected he had a reason for wanting to talk to her all of a sudden, like he needed to bring things to a close before doing something more terrible than anything he'd done so far. She feared once he left tonight they would never meet again except as enemies - a thought which brought her profound sadness.

She’d tried to resume her book, but her nerves were too distressed to focus. She laid the book face down on the table to save her place. When his car pulled into the carnival and came to a stop next to Jacques’ taxi, her heart was hammering inside her chest so loudly she feared her brothers might hear. It was nearly eleven but she knew better than to think they would be none the wiser to Olaf’s presence. Both of the Snicket men were sharper than that. She glanced around the tent hurriedly and spotted the lilies her brother had brought her. She hastily stashed them inside a trunk and was glad she had done so when he entered the tent with a handful of the very same flower. Their eyes met and his mouth curved slightly into a sad smile that didn’t extend up to his eyes. His eyes were still the bright blue she remembered but somehow, they were different. The exuberance for life and adventure they once held had been replaced by sorrow and woe.

“For you, little fox.”

Kit's smile was genuine. She couldn’t help herself – there was just something about him that she couldn’t explain but made her heart do somersaults behind her rib cage. She reached up and tucked a loose strand of deep auburn hair behind her ear.

"You've changed your hair," Olaf greeted her. 

"Yes, well... a blonde fortune teller didn't go over too well with the test audience."

"Test audience?"

"Trainees. They said I didn't look 'mysterious' enough."

"Pssh," Olaf scoffed. "What would they know?"

"I'm surprised you recognize me after all this time," Kit mused. She'd tried to sound sarcastic but it only came out sounding remorseful. 

"Ahh, I'd recognize you anywhere, Kit. A little hair dye isn't enough to tarnish my memory of you. Although I must say, I do prefer your natural blonde."  _But you'd be absolutely beautiful no matter what color your hair was,_  he added to himself. 

Olaf laid the flowers on the table as Kit produced a bottle of red wine. She had also put away the tea prior to his arrival. One of their differences was how they took their tea – Kit preferred hers bitter while Olaf added enough sugar to turn the beverage to molasses.  She had felt a pang when she'd taken the sugar down from a high shelf. Sugar always made her think of the sugar bowl... and the sugar bowl made her think of the series of events that had split VFD and led them to this very moment.

She had worried that their meeting would be stiff and uncomfortable, but it was just the opposite. They knew each other too well and before long, they were talking and laughing as if no time had passed. Kit wished things could just stay this way. As long as Olaf was focused on the past and not the present, he was happy (or at least acted like it). There was one brief moment of awkwardness halfway through their second glass of wine when he asked in a not-so-subtle way what was going on between her and Dewey Denouement with an unmistakable aura of jealousy.

Rather than answer him directly, she retorted, “Hmm tell me then, how is Georgina Orwell these days?”

Olaf’s expression changed to a mixture of satisfaction, guilt, and disgust. He hadn't expected that the rumors of his involvement with the optometrist had made it as far as the hinterlands, but he wasn't surprised. He wasn't sure what he wanted Kit to think. On one hand, it pleased him to think she was jealous; she wouldn't be jealous if she didn't still have feelings for him. On the other hand, however, he didn't want her to know anything about the way he lived now, including the sordid affairs he engaged in. He felt nothing for Georgina; in fact, he felt nothing for any woman he'd gotten involved with since Kit. They were just there - playthings to amuse himself with until he grew bored of them. He felt numb to everything. He certainly wasn't the same person Kit had loved once. Which was why he was here... to say goodbye to her before he committed the act that she would never be able to forgive him for.

Kit waved her hand as if to dismiss the topic and conversation resumed comfortably.

Before long, Kit was opening a second bottle of wine with a hearty flush about her cheeks and a conflict burning inside her heart. She had feelings for Dewey, there was no denying that. He was kind, gentle, and it was no secret that he adored Kit. But what she felt for Olaf was so much more complicated. Their love had been heat and passion and burned hotter than the fires Olaf seemed so obsessed with now. She hated herself for admitting she still carried a torch for him and felt rather hypocritical after criticizing her brother for the exact same thing. There was just no ignoring that Olaf had started down a wicked path she couldn’t follow. She tried to push all these thoughts from her mind and just enjoy the evening for what it was. But she knew if he kept following that destructive path, they would eventually part forever. 

She laughed as he reenacted the time he, Kit, Jacques, and Dr. Montgomery had gone undercover at a benefit gala with the goal of persuading a very prominent engineer to build them a fleet of mini-submarine hovercrafts. Their mission went awry so to distract their enemies, Josephine had snuck in and released a crate of fruit bats. Olaf was flapping his arms wildly and shrieking as he impersonated the gala guests... or the bats. Kit wasn't sure which. He took another hearty gulp of wine but found he savored the sound of her laughter much more than the robust taste of the Shiraz. He'd never dreamed he would hear anything as sweet as her laughter ever again. 

Without preamble, Olaf grasped her hand firmly and pulled her to her feet. She swayed slightly in part by the sudden unexpected movement and in part by the effects of the wine. A gramophone had been playing quietly in the background and they unintentionally swayed for a moment to the melody. It was a song Kit loved but could never remember the name of. Kit glanced up to see him looking down at her with both adoration and profound sadness. It was that look that jogged her memory - this was the song that had been playing when they'd gotten engaged. She knew she shouldn't... knew that crossing that line would only bring more misery and heartbreak. She stopped thinking altogether and stood on the tips of her toes, placed her hands on his shoulders for additional leverage and pressed her lips to his.

The moments their lips touched, memories washed over Olaf and he was painfully reminded of how much he loved her... how much he'd always love her.

 _No!_ His mind screamed at him.  _This was not_ _what you came here to do!_ If he went down this path with her again, even for a night, he doubted he'd have the strength to let her go. In truth, all he'd wanted - all he'd expected - out of this night was to talk to her. To see her smile at him one more time before he became the monster that she could never smile at again. Having her in his arms again, being able to kiss her - these were things he thought had transcended into fantasy, for he never imagined he would experience them again. 

He knew he should refuse her. Knew he should push her away and tell her it would be better for both of them if they just talked. His mind told him these things clearly - oh, but his heart... His heart told him to savor every moment with her, for tonight would be his last opportunity. 

He quashed the warnings in his mind by wrapping his long slender arms around her waist and lifting her a few inches off the floor. Kit tightened her grip around his neck and clung to him. Olaf peppered her neck with kisses, nipping lightly and causing Kit to let out a tiny sigh of want. 

"Oh, Kit..." he breathed softly. He wanted her more than he could say but the moment her name passed his lips, he knew he couldn't act on it. He abruptly disentangled himself from her and backed away quickly. He scrambled to the tent's entrance, bumping the small table and causing her book to fall to the floor. Olaf glanced at it briefly and continued to retreat from the tent.

“Wh-where are you going?” Kit asked, visibly confused and hurt.

“To... sleep in my car,” he replied with a groan, hardly believing he was giving up the chance to make her his one more time. 

Her disappointment deepened as her brow furrowed. “Why?”

“You wouldn't be acting like this if it weren't for the wine. This isn’t right. You’re drunk.”

Kit was taken aback. “No, I’m not. Besides, it's been a long time since you cared about propriety.”

“That’s exactly what I would expect a drunk person to say.”

“I’m telling you, I’m not. Come on, O, you know me. Am I drunk?”

Olaf paused to consider. He looked into her grey eyes, normally dancing with laughter and joy. But now they only showed disappointment and pain. But she never shed a tear. That was just one of the many things he loved about her. No matter how upset she may be, Kit Snicket was never weepy. She looked back at him through dark purple glasses in the shape of cat's eyes, challenging him to answer her question. 

“No,” he finally admitted. “You always could drink me under the table. But it still isn’t right.”

“And why now, of all times, have you suddenly decided to grow a conscience?” Kit snapped sarcastically.  

“Since maybe I don’t want to hurt you any more than I already have!" He bellowed. "Jesus Christ, Kit! Did it ever occur to you that I care about what happens to you? Or that I regret losing you?”

“No... it honestly hadn’t,” Kit answered truthfully. It might have once, but that was a long time ago.

It was Olaf’s turn to look hurt.

“Kit," he began in a flat, defeated voice, "you were the last good thing in my life... and I fucked it up. I’ve made my choices. But I need you to know that losing you is the biggest regret of my life. It's too late for me to come back and I refuse to drag you down with me.”

“I’m a grown woman. How about let me decide what I do with my own life?”

"I am. And I know you won't choose the life I've chosen."

"You're right," she said fiercely. "I won't. But..."

Olaf glanced back at her, not daring to hope. 

"But what?"

Kit hesitated, but only for a second. "But I wish you'd stay..." she said in a strained whisper. 

Olaf closed his eyes and shook his head. "No, you don't."

"Stay," Kit persisted. "Please."

"You'll regret it later," Olaf warned. 

"Probably," Kit agreed. "But I'm going to do that either way. I'd rather regret _this,_ " she gestured between him and herself, "than regret doing nothing and watching you walk out of my life forever." 

Olaf stood unmoving for a moment, halfway between his car and the love of his former life. He looked back and forth several times, and couldn’t deny the longing he felt for her and the desire burning in her eyes. He would never admit, at least to her, how much he still loved and yearned for her. He squeezed his eyes shut as a sea of memories cascaded over him like a wave. Things were so much easier when they were younger, before his parents died. A memory he thought was lost to him resurfaced. It was years ago when he was still a student at Wade Academy. He'd been expelled from Prufrock Prep ( _stupid gym teacher_ , he thought bitterly) and his parents had sent him to a boarding school in a town that no longer existed. In the dead of night, he'd carved a declaration of their youthful innocent love into a crudely drawn heart in the school's bell tower. It felt like that had been a lifetime ago.

When he opened his eyes, she was staring at him, eyebrows raised, as if to say,  _well, what's it going to be?_ He finally heaved a deep sigh, tossed the keys to his car onto the table, and sauntered back inside the tent. He grabbed ahold of her waist with one arm and pulled her into him with a jerk. Kit smiled mischievously up at him and he responded by kissing her hungrily. He put one hand at the nape of her neck and pulled her to him. With the other hand, he fumbled with the laces of her corset. He felt like he'd been starving and she was the life-saving sustenance he so desperately needed. Kit's hands found the hem of his shirt and slipped beneath it. She drug her fingernails lightly across his back, causing him to groan with ravenous desire. 

"Olaf..." she whispered breathlessly.

He scooped her up abruptly and carried her into the back of the tent.  

“Don’t you ever forget that this was _your_ idea,” he growled to her as the strings of beads swished behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So obviously this is one of those hybrid parts since, in the books, Olaf goes to Madam Lulu/Olivia Caliban regularly but in the show, he'd never met her before (I kinda wish he had, since the normal Madam Lulu was Kit and I'm sure he would have recognized her). 
> 
> In my story, however, Olaf is aware of Kit's assignment at the carnival.
> 
> Chapter title credit to Twenty One Pilots


	3. Mine Would Be You

Olaf lay on the plush featherbed in Kit’s tent, staring up at the ceiling. Kit was curled up next to him, her head in the crook of his shoulder and her arm draped lazily across his chest. The arm she was lying on was wrapped around her waist and with his free hand, he gently ran his long narrow fingers through her rich mahogany hair. He hadn’t known he was still capable of such tenderness, but Kit somehow managed to bring him out of his despair and gloom. She made him want to be a better man. He just didn’t know how to be. 

He felt her shift and looked down to see her grey eyes open and looking back up at him. He didn't know how was it possible for her to look both content and so full of sorrow at the same time, but she did. Perhaps it was because they both knew this meeting would be their last as lovers and that was bittersweet in and of itself.

"Olaf?"

"Hmm?"

"Let's run away."

"Ok, little fox," he humored her. "Where do you want to run away to?"

"Mmmm, let's go back to Spain."

He didn't reply immediately. His attention had been drawn to a small, leatherbound notebook on the small table next to the bed. It was a journal and the date at the top of the page was New Year's Eve, several years past. He read, in Kit's handwriting, words that he himself had spoken. He read aloud, "'These words you should always remember...'"

"'To you, my heart I surrender,'" Kit finished softly. 

Olaf wasn't sure how much heart he had left, but in that moment, he knew he at least had enough left to break. Kit reached up and placed her palm against his cheek. "For someone so hellbent on revenge and villainy, you look mighty sad, O."

He took her petite chin in his hand and tilted her face toward his, placing a gentle kiss to her lips.

"Was that it?" Kit asked softly. 

"What?"

"Our last kiss?"

"No, little fox. If it’s the last thing I do, come hell or high water, I’ll find a way back to you for one more,” he promised her. 

"I'll hold you to that," she murmured. She gave a content sigh and drifted off back to sleep.

He wished life could be easier and that they could have the type of happily ever after from fairytales. They'd been so close once. But life wasn’t fair and he was not destined for happiness. Anything that was good and wholesome and happy turned to ash and rot when it was around him for too long. He had become as poisonous and deadly as the darts that killed his parents. Which was why he had to leave. He refused to let his tarnished soul rub off on Kit. She was too good for that. She existed in a daydream where he no longer belonged.

He heard movement outside the tent and stilled his breathing to listen better. By his reckoning, it couldn’t be dawn yet, but it was getting close. He immediately recognized the voices of Kit’s brothers.

“Ugh, what is he doing here?” Deep voice – that was ole sourpuss Lemony. They were standing outside Kit's tent, which meant they had definitely seen his car.

“Not really our business, is it? But from what he told me, saying goodbye," Jacques answered in reply.

“How do you know? Wait. You knew he would be here?”

“Not necessarily tonight, but yes, Kit told me he'd be coming sooner or later.”

"You said  _he_ told you," Lemony said.

"That's right. They both told me."

"Why would you even talk to him?"

"Because we were friends once, Lem. All of us," Jacques reminded his brother. 

"That was before... And anyway, why didn’t she tell _me_?”

“Because she knew you’d be judgmental and offer her advice she doesn’t want to hear.”

A brief silence passed between the two brothers before Jacques spoke again.

“Lem, don't. I know that look. Don't storm in there and make a scene. Besides, you might not like what you see..."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I'm just saying, there's a lot of history there. It wouldn't surprise me if they rekindled that flame... For old time's sake." 

Despite himself, Olaf grinned. Rekindled the flame indeed. 

"Jacques. That's our sister."

"I'm very well aware. But tell me honestly - if you had the chance to clear the air with Beatrice and get everything out, would you take it?" Lemony was silent. "You know damn right you would. So don’t ruin this for her. Let her do this on her terms.”

“Is she coming to the party later tonight?” Lemony asked.

“No,” the eldest Snicket answered. “She's going to the hotel with Denouement to continue cataloging our research.”

Olaf felt a brief spasm of jealousy, then heard Lemony sigh and say, “Good. It's not wise for us all to be in one location at the same time."  _Still paranoid, I see_ , thought Olaf.  "I just hope this can be the last chapter in our sister’s sad story with this villain.”

"He wasn't always a villain, remember."

"Don't you start defending him too," Lemony snapped.

"I'm not defending him! I don't condone his actions any more than you do, little brother. But we were all friends once," Jacques repeated. "Good friends. I just don't think it's healthy to pretend that part of our past doesn't exist."

"And to think our sister almost married him..."

Jacques sighed and Olaf could almost picture him shaking his head. 

Olaf sneered as he heard them get into their cars. The sound of the engines starting seemed to echo in the quiet desert. He didn't particularly care for either one of her brothers anymore, but Jacques had always been jovial with him. Lemony had been when they were in school together, but since he'd become a full-time volunteer, he'd grown pompous and judgmental. Olaf shifted his gaze from the ceiling to Kit’s peaceful sleeping form. While Lemony’s words enraged him, they also made him more resolute in his decision to leave before she woke. Kit deserved a better life than what he could give her. Especially with what he was planning to do next. He knew she’d try to tell him it didn’t have to be this way, that vengeance wouldn't heal the pain or change the past. That he didn’t have to go through with his plan. But he did. The desire for revenge burned so deeply within him he thought he might die from it. So he had to let her go. _For her own good..._

Another hour passed. He longed to stay with her as long as he could. But all too soon, the sun crept over the mountains and shone through the slit of the tent flaps. He slowly slid his arm out from beneath her head, careful not to disturb her. He thought of just leaving outright but he could already picture the betrayal and pain on her face at waking and finding him gone. He penned a brief note which he stuck beneath the lilies he’d brought her. He smoothed her hair from her face and placed a soft kiss on her forehead. He paused, remembering what he'd told her about kissing her once more and whispered, "That one doesn't count," before leaving the tent in silence. As he started his car and pulled away from the carnival, he muttered so softly it might not have even been audible.

“I will love you always, little fox.”

When Kit awoke a few hours later, she felt his absence before she was even fully aware he was gone. On the table in the foyer, underneath the lilies he'd brought her which had wilted from being left out of water, was a note scrawled hastily in narrow familiar handwriting:

 

> _If I had to choose my best day ever, my finest hour, my wildest dream come true – mine would be you._
> 
> _P.S. You were about to start chapter twelve._

She read the note and nodded wordlessly as she willed her heart to let him go. She retrieved her book from the floor, opened it to chapter twelve, and placed the note inside before closing the book again. It snapped shut with a finality not unlike their love story. It would be the only book she never finished. She often went back to it, intending to reread it but every time, she could never bring herself to read past chapter twelve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit to Blake Shelton for the lyrics from "Mine Would Be You," 
> 
> Also drew inspiration from "She is the Sunlight" by Trading Yesterday and "My Heart I Surrender," by I Prevail.


	4. Poison and Wine

Olaf pressed his back against the brick wall of the alcove, taking advantage of natural shadows that concealed him from view. He had to make sure he wasn’t seen – he knew he wasn’t welcome at this grand celebration. He was on the wrong side of the schism that formed a canyon between two factions of their once wholesome organization. This might be his only opportunity to make Beatrice pay for the wrong she did to his family. With those poison darts, she'd ruined his entire life and stolen everything he'd held dear. He also remembered very clearly the sight of a third dart tottering precariously in the seat he'd been occupying that night. So now it was a matter of taking her out before she tried to kill him again.

He couldn’t get to her in the city; she was too suspicious and well protected. But out here, in the mountains beyond the hinterlands, there were far fewer witnesses and as an added bonus, the party caused everyone to relax and pay less attention to sinister things hiding in the dark. He still had reliable sources within V.F.D. and had been tipped off that she would be wearing an elaborate costume resembling a dragonfly. He knew Beatrice. He knew she liked to have a moment to herself before making an appearance at a gathering. So he waited. 

As he waited, the wind picked up and sent a chill down his spine. It wasn't called the Valley of the Four Drafts for nothing. To his consternation, he thought of Kit. He knew she would be disappointed when she heard. She was noble and honest and everything he wasn’t. He’d made his choice to pursue revenge and there was no place for her in that life. Their chapter was over. In retrospect, he couldn’t have asked for a better night to end their story. He needed no wine or spirits to be intoxicated by her. He smirked as moments from the previous night flashed through his mind. The smell of lavender as he'd buried his face in her hair. The light scratches her fingernails had left on his shoulder as she'd clung to him. The sound of her hungrily whispering his name. The taste of her kiss...  He shook his head to clear his thoughts. He knew if he let himself remain consumed by thoughts of her, it would only drive him mad. Despite himself, he realized he'd done the very thing he'd accused her of so long ago - he was choosing revenge and villainy over a life with her. Try as he might, while he waited for Beatrice Baudelaire to appear, he couldn't stop images of Kit Snicket from penetrating his mind.

Inside, the Snicket brothers were standing at the bar, the youngest fretting over the whereabouts of Lady Baudelaire. Despite his worry, he stared at the root beer float in front of him and remembered a time from his youth when he would have given his left shoe for a root beer in a dilapidated town that seemed to only serve coffee. He unfolded the delicate paper airplane from his delicious beverage that he had no thirst for and saw a simple, two word phrase that caused his stomach to lurch uncomfortably and send the float crashing to the floor. He dropped the note as he ran to the door. Jacques stared at his brother’s back and at the note that lay on the bar.  Two words that brought so much dread and apprehension, like a dark cloud that hung over the entire V.F.D.

_**Olaf knows.** _

Outside, Olaf saw a shadow pass his hidden alcove. He peered out enough to see that a woman dressed as a dragonfly was standing at the edge of the balcony, looking out at the impressive landscape of the Valley of the Four Drafts. Olaf slipped out of his hiding place and approached the woman with surprising silence and swiftness. As soon as he was within range of her, Lemony appeared on the upper balcony.

_"Beatrice! Count Olaf is-”_

Before he could finish his warning, Olaf shoved Beatrice hard and deliberately, causing her to lurch forward over the partition. He looked up at Lemony and smiled wickedly. Olaf felt a solitary moment of victory before it turned to rage and dismay when he saw the costume’s wings expand and catch a gust of air, carrying her safely to the valley below. Olaf bellowed a roar of fury at his failure before turning and retreating back into the shadows of the mountain before he could be pursued by that meddlesome Snicket.

 ****************************************

A short while later, Beatrice returned to the party to find that all efforts to locate Olaf had failed. After all, he used to be a member of their organization so he knew all the same tunnels and secret passageways through the mountains that they did. The blatant attempt on Beatrice’s life was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Not in the literal sense, of course. While V.F.D. used many animals to send secret messages, camels were not one of them. The straw that broke the camel’s back is an expression to indicate that an event was the one that caused something to change dramatically. In this case, the straw that broke the camel’s back refers to the event that caused their noble organization to divide into two distinct factions – those who put out fires and those who started them.

Perhaps that was why a mere five months after the masquerade costume ball when the Baudelaire mansion went up in flames, there were too few volunteers to put out the blaze in time, causing Beatrice, Bertrand, and their exquisite manor to succumb to the inferno.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title credit to The Civil Wars


	5. Broken

Kit Snicket unfolded the newspaper, read the headline, and collapsed into a chair. She let the paper fall to the floor and she cradled her head in her hands, letting the grief wash over her. Kit glanced down at the headline again and her heart clenched in pain.

_“Count Omar Murdered!”_

Kit knew _The Daily Punctilio_ was always getting details wrong, so she had no doubt the paper was referring to Olaf. She also knew that being on opposite sides of the schism meant that they would always be fighting one another, even if they never saw one another again. They’d been doomed the moment those darts had struck Count and Countess Crivelli and Kit knew fully well that Olaf had taken a path she could never follow. But that didn’t mean she wouldn’t mourn him. She had always hoped she could bring him back over… somehow. She strongly disagreed with his way of life and his priorities, but she’d never wanted to see him die.

Kit took a deep breath and reached for a bottle of wine. She had almost uncorked the bottle when she remembered her condition. She rested her hand on her growing belly and tried to will the queasy feeling that had come over her to go away. Since she’d found out about her pregnancy, she had a stocked a decent amount of ginger ale in the supply room of her fortune-teller tent. She retrieved a bottle of the fizzy soda and picked up the newspaper from the floor. She settled into a comfortable armchair and prepared herself to actually read the article.

The article was full of errors, just like Kit had expected. The paper claimed that the Baudelaires had killed Olaf, which Kit just couldn’t believe. They had been raised better than that by good, noble people.

 _Noble… like their mother… who fired poison darts at the wrong people and possibly started this series of unfortunate events,_ Kit thought.

She didn’t know what to believe anymore. She hoped three respectable children couldn’t do something so heinous, but she had never believed Beatrice could do what she’d done either.

Kit turned the page to continue the story (where the paper promised a photo of the deceased). She wasn’t sure she wanted to see it, but it was like a car crash on the side of the highway – she felt compelled to look even though she was almost certain she wasn’t going to like what she saw.

She smoothed the paper across her lap and gasped sharply when she saw the photo.

“No…” she whispered.

 _The Daily Punctilio_ had made a terrible, terrible error. The photo in the article of the dead man wasn’t Olaf at all. It was…

“Jacques,” Kit murmured in dismay. She felt the tears welling up and while she usually could hold herself together, she couldn’t see the use now. She was alone in her tent; the carnival freaks knew to leave her alone at night. Tears leaked from the corner of her eyes, which were squeezed shut so she wouldn’t have to see the image of her beloved twin lying dead on a coroner’s gurney.

“Oh, O…” Kit cried softly. “What have you done?”

She snatched the paper off her lap and tossed it away. She didn’t care to read the rest of the article. None of it would contain the truth. The truth that now, Kit was the last Snicket sibling left. Lemony was missing and presumed dead and now Jacques…

She couldn’t fathom how this had happened. Was Olaf truly so mad with bloodlust for revenge that he could have done this? He and Jacques had been friends… good friends. She thought back to the night her brothers had come to stay at the carnival on their way to the headquarters masquerade ball. Jacques had brought her tiger lilies, her favorite flower. She realized with profound sorrow that that night was the last time all three Snicket siblings were together.

She got up from the armchair and rooted around in the trunk in the corner until she found what she was looking for. She returned to the chair, brought her knees as close to her chest as her pregnant belly would allow, and cradled a photograph of herself and her two brothers close to her heart. It was the first time she’d cried herself to sleep since that night at the opera.

* * *

 

 

Kit had been organizing some newspaper clippings and magazine articles that she’d recently acquired when she heard the unmistakable sound of her brother’s taxi as it pulled into the carnival. She approached the entrance of the tent cautiously. Her brother was dead – whoever was driving his car might not be friendly now.

To Kit’s surprise, a woman had stepped out of the driver’s seat. A woman with dark cocoa hair and glasses, who looked both lost and hopeful. A woman who, Kit couldn’t help but think, reminded her a lot of herself.

“Are you K—”

“Shh! Not outside,” Kit hissed.

The woman nodded and flushed scarlet as she glanced around to see if anyone else had been outside. Thankfully, the carnival was already closed down for the evening. The woman retrieved a long, heavy book from the front seat and Kit relaxed a bit at the sight of it. Kit waved the unknown woman into the tent.

Once inside, Kit sealed the flaps and turned on the gramophone to avoid being overheard, just in case one of the freaks was outside of their caravan.

“Are you Kit Snicket?” The woman asked quietly.

“I am Madam Lulu, Fortune Teller Extraordinaire and facilitator of this carnival,” Kit said in her heavily accented voice.

“My name is Olivia Caliban,” the woman said. “And Jacques sent me here to warn you that the sugar bowl is not safe.”

“What do you know about the sugar bowl?” Kit asked, so surprised she forgot to use her phony accent.

“Everything that Jacques shared with me,” Olivia replied.

Kit knew she shouldn’t be so trusting of this stranger, but she was so starved for information from a person instead of an unreliable newspaper. She removed the scarf from around her head and lifted her skirt hem enough for Olivia to see the tattoo on her ankle.

“I am Kit Snicket. Tell me everything.”

Olivia talked for quite a while. She told Kit about how she met the Baudelaires at Prufrock Preparatory School and how she’d stumbled upon _The Incomplete History of Secret Organizations_. She told of her search for information that led her all the way to the city and in front of Jacques’s taxi. She blushed when she spoke of Jacques and how much he’d taught her in the short time she’d spent with him. Her voice quivered as she told the story of their escape from the Village of Fowl Devotees jail and her uncertainty that she would ever see Jacques again.

Kit’s mind was reeling with all of this new information. She hadn’t completely processed everything when Olivia suddenly let out a sound of dismay.

“I shouldn’t have told Esmé where the sugar bowl was… I’m a fool,” Olivia cried.

Kit smiled gently. “You aren’t a fool,” she said as she laid her hand over Olivia’s. “It was smart thinking and you got away because of it.”

“But what if she gets ahold of it?”

“She won’t,” Kit said with certainty. “We’ll make sure to retrieve it before she ever reaches that hospital.”

Olivia sighed with relief. She looked around the tent, taking in her surroundings for the first time since her arrival.

“How long have you been here?”

“Oh, off and on for years. Occasionally, another volunteer will step in when I’m needed elsewhere, but for the most part, Caligari has been my home for… well, longer than anywhere else since my childhood home burnt down.”

“Isn’t it lonely out here?” Olivia wondered.

“It can be,” Kit admitted. “But I’m not that far from headquarters, so I’m constantly getting visitors that stop in who are on their way to or from the mountains.”

Olivia sighed deeply. “So… once we safeguard the sugar bowl, what next? Jacques said he would meet me here but he didn’t say what the plan would be passed that.”

Kit’s face fell. _She doesn’t know_. She hated to be the one to have to tell Olivia that the man she loved was dead. Olivia hadn’t said it, but Kit had seen the way her features had lit up when she’d spoken Jacques’s name and how her ears had turned slightly red when she had recounted their ascent of 667 Dark Avenue. Which made it all the more difficult to tell her that…

“Olivia… I don’t know how to tell you this,” Kit said sadly.

Olivia studied Kit’s face.

“Jacques is dead, isn’t he?” Olivia guessed.

Kit blinked rapidly in surprise. She hadn’t expected that. Her breath quivered slightly as she sighed.

“He is,” she whispered.

“I was afraid of that when he stayed behind,” Olivia confessed. “I tried to get him to come with me, but he insisted.”

“Jacques was always stubborn,” Kit shared. “It’s a Snicket trait, I guess.”

The two women were silent, each undoubtedly reflecting on their own fond memories of Jacques Snicket. Kit rose to make tea and Olivia nodded when Kit asked if she’d like a cup.

“Sugar?” Kit asked politely.

“No, thanks,” Olivia replied. “Tea should be bitter.”

“No wonder my brother liked you,” Kit remarked appreciatively.

The women were quiet again as they sipped their tea. Kit had just about made up her mind about something, but Olivia’s participation was essential.

“Olivia, listen,” Kit began.

“You’ve got to go get the sugar bowl from Heimlich Hospital,” Olivia supplied.

“Yes,” Kit agreed. “But I can’t leave the carnival unattended. It’s not very busy, but people… and volunteers… stop here occasionally.”

“Tell me what I need to do,” Olivia said.

 _So willing to volunteer and she doesn’t even know what she must do,_ Kit thought. _Were we all that eagerly agreeable once?_

“Well… I’ll need you to be Madam Lulu until I return,” Kit said.

“Consider it done,” Olivia said with a nod.

“It’s not quite that simple,” Kit explained gently. “I’ll have to coach you on the voice and Madam Lulu’s mannerisms. The carnival employees who live in the freaks caravan know that sometimes others take my place from time to time, but we try to make the transition as seamless as possible.”

“Okay. When should we start?”

“It’s about half a day’s drive to the hospital from here. I’ll spend tomorrow teaching you about Lulu and then I’ll leave first thing the day after tomorrow.”

Olivia nodded again. She didn’t look afraid, which Kit realized was a telltale sign of how little time she’d been a volunteer. Having spent nearly her entire life in VFD, being afraid had just become second nature to Kit.

“There’s one more thing you need to know before you agree to do this,” Kit mentioned. She really didn’t want to have to bring this up, but if there was even the slightest chance that he could wind up here…

Olivia looked at Kit expectantly. Kit steeled herself in preparation for Olivia to storm out once she heard what Kit had to tell her.

“There’s a chance Olaf and his associates might end up here before I get back. Especially if I succeed in retrieving the sugar bowl before they do. This is the next stop on the way to headquarters and Olaf knows that.”

“Olaf used to be one of you, right?” Olivia questioned. “So, does he know who Madam Lulu really is?”

“Yes,” Kit replied with a grimace, “but it’s more than that…”

Olivia was quiet, waiting for Kit to continue.

“Olaf and I used to be engaged,” Kit said quickly.

For a moment, Olivia didn’t react. But soon, the implications of what that meant occurred to her.

“Oh…” Olivia said. “ _Oh!”_

“Yes,” Kit conceded. “If he shows up, he’s going to expect to see me as Madam Lulu.”

“Well, surely he’d know right away that I’m not you… wouldn’t he?”

“I’d like to think so, but… so much has changed. Hopefully, having Esmé Squalor with him, he might try to act like he doesn’t know it’s me at all.”

“I hate her,” Olivia seethed.

“That makes two of us then,” Kit agreed.

Olivia took a deep breath. “Okay, then. Tomorrow you’ll teach me how to be Lulu. Tonight… teach me how to fool Olaf into thinking I’m you.”

“You’re still willing to do this?” Kit asked incredulously.

“Yes. For Jacques.”

Kit grinned. “Okay then.” She dug around in the trunk in the corner and pulled out a stack of letters, pictures, and cards. She knew it would be painful to relive so many happy times from her past, but if Olivia was going to be convincing, she had to know everything. Olaf acted aloof, but he was clever when he wanted to be… and he knew absolutely everything about Kit. Well… almost everything, Kit corrected herself as she thought of the tiny life growing inside her.

“Quick question before we get started,” Olivia chimed. “How should I go about making myself look pregnant?”

Kit rested a hand on her swollen belly and thought about Olivia’s question.

“Actually, Olaf hasn't seen me in several months and doesn’t know I’m pregnant, so you don’t have to do anything.”

Kit decided the easiest way to teach Olivia to be her was to start from this moment and work their way back. She reached for a photo on the top of the stack.

“Who’s this handsome fellow?” Olivia inquired curiously at the photo in Kit’s hand.

“This is Dewey,” Kit said fondly. “And he deserves so much more than… Never mind. Let’s begin.”


	6. Impossible Year

His henchpeople started asking back when the scheme at Dr. Montgomery’s house had failed. Monty had had a flyer for Caligari Carnival stuck to his refrigerator with a magnet. One of the white-faced women had noticed it and mentioned a carnival might be a good place to let off some steam. Olaf had utterly refused without explanation.

* * *

 

There had been another flyer for the carnival in the open market at Lake Lachrymose. The other white-faced woman had pointed it out to her sister, but the other woman had shaken her head and silently warned her sibling not to draw attention to it. Olaf had noticed anyway and snatched the flyer down and thrown it into the street.

* * *

 

It seemed like the flyers for that wretched carnival followed him everywhere, not unlike the Baudelaires and their feeling that the eye-shaped tattoo on Olaf’s ankle was following them. In Paltryville, Georgina Orwell replaced the photo of Olaf’s face with a Caligari Carnival flyer to serve as her dartboard. After Georgina had thrown eight consecutive darts and hit the flyer square in the middle every time, Olaf had lost his patience and torn it down, leaving it crumpled on the floor. He’d gone upstairs to sulk but found no relief in the loft of the optometry office either, since the building only brought back the memory of that long-ago mission to Spain.

* * *

 

There hadn’t been a flyer or any kind of advertisement for the carnival at Prufrock, but it made little difference. For there had been the photo of Olaf and Snicket, comrades in arms of the drama club, and naturally thinking of one Snicket caused him to think about another.

* * *

 

Back in the city, no one explicitly mentioned the carnival, but what went unspoken was that both Olaf and Esmé knew where “Günther’s” odd foreign accent originated – from an exotic, strange fortune teller at a carnival in the Hinterlands.

* * *

 

By the time they’d pursued the Baudelaires to the Village of Fowl Devotees, he and his troupe were getting desperate. Then who of all people turned up – Jacques Snicket. His unexpected arrival brought so many long-forgotten things to the surface. So many things he’d spent years trying to bury beneath a mask of fire and hatred. When Snicket had appeared in the abandoned saloon with a feisty brunette beside him, Olaf had to do a double-take. Initially, he saw Snicket’s twin sister with all that tenacity he remembered. But on second glance, it wasn’t her. This woman was a bit taller and had dark eyes instead of bluish grey. He recognized her as that librarian from Prufrock, but it was scary how much she resembled…

In retrospect, the Village was where everything started to go sideways. Esmé was single-mindedly obsessed with recovering her stolen sugar bowl just as Olaf was single-mindedly obsessed with getting his hands on the Baudelaire fortune. If push came to shove… well, he’d never given a damn about that stupid sugar bowl in the first place.

The Village was the biggest mess he’d been in for as long as he could remember. The Quagmires got away, the Baudelaires got away, the librarian even got away and was undoubtedly relocated that stupid fucking sugar bowl to a new hiding place (which he couldn’t get Esmé to understand no matter how many times he repeated it). And to top it all off, Snicket was dead. He truly hadn’t meant for that to happen. They were only supposed to knock him unconscious and make it look like he was dead for the newspaper. If there was one thing he would regret, it was that. He feared Jacques's death would haunt him for the rest of his days.

As he drove through the barren landscape of the hinterlands, he couldn’t help but think of the carnival that sat at the foot of the mountains somewhere off over the horizon. If there had ever been even the slightest chance that she would forgive him and look past all of his treacheries, that chance had died along with her twin brother. He had even more reason to avoid that carnival now.

Esmé had asked him what was wrong twice; he’d ignored her both times. When she asked a third time, Olaf gave her a look heavy with contempt.

“Just shut up!”

“Honestly, I don’t know why you’re moping,” Esmé retorted. “I mean, yes, the brats from the fountain got away, but we’re bound to find those Baudelaires sooner or later. They can’t go many places out here. And besides darling! Now we know where the su—”

“I will slap you in the throat if you say ‘sugar bowl’ one more time,” Olaf threatened.

The troupe let out a collective gasp from the back seat. It was pretty routine for Olaf to threaten them, but they’d never heard him threaten Esmé.

“ _What_ has gotten into you?” Esmé demanded shrilly.

“Nothing!” Olaf insisted. “I’m just sick and tired of chasing those orphans all over the goddamn place.”

“I told you,” Esmé insisted. “After we get the—”

Olaf cast her a warning glance. Esmé cleared her throat hastily. “After we retrieve my stolen property, we don’t _need_ the Baudelaires. I’m already wealthy enough for the two of us. Why do you have to have _their_ fortune?”

“Because...” Olaf said icily, “it’s not _theirs._ It’s _mine_.”

The rest of the drive passed in stony silence.

* * *

 

As luck would have it, it seemed like they might both get what they wanted at Heimlich Hospital and there would be absolutely no need to go to the carnival. Maybe then, Esmé would stop complaining so much about her stupid tea set. But luck evaded him as usual. The small object that the middle Baudelaire handed Esmé turned out not to be the sugar bowl but...

“The Snicket File?” Olaf marveled. “Give me that!” He snatched the container from Esmé’s hands and slipped away while the room erupted into a cacophony of arguing.

The Library of Records was a wreck but the projector seemed to still be functional. Olaf fed the film onto the spool with shaking hands. When the picture came into focus, he was hit with both disappointment and guilt when the face of the eldest Snicket appeared instead of her.

Jacques’s testimony on the film informed that there could be a survivor to the fire. Olaf paled. After _all of this_ it might have been for _nothing_?! Olaf had sacrificed everything he'd had - everything he was - for revenge against Beatrice. From the moment her poison darts had left him an orphan, he'd started down a one-way road that he could never return from. He'd had everything he'd ever wanted once - friends, a home, a beautiful woman who loved him, a promising acting career - and it had all been extinguished like a match once he'd made the choice to make Beatrice pay for what she'd done. He had spent over fifteen years letting his hate fester, setting fire after fire, but never gaining the satisfaction that revenge had been served. And when it had come to setting the one fire that had really mattered... he hadn't done it. Sure, everyone thought he did... so he just let them go on thinking it. Maybe if he had, there wouldn't be the possibility that she was  _still alive._

He knocked the projector over in rage and disgust, slamming it against the table repeatedly until his ire had been replaced with defeat. A tiny spark rose from the destroyed machine. Olaf looked at it with surprise.  _Oh well_ , he thought as he blew the spark gently until it burst into a tiny flame, _what’s one more fire?_

As the hospital burned, panic ensued. Olaf had no way of knowing of course, but at that very moment, Kit Snicket was inside the hospital retrieving the sugar bowl and sneaking out the back.

It was pure chaos outside. It was a miracle everyone made it to the car. Olaf knew where they needed to go from here – if there _was_ a survivor, they were almost guaranteed to be hiding at the VFD headquarters in the mountains. He wondered if they could just drive straight there and skip the carnival all-together. Just as the thought crossed his mind, a flyer for Caligari Carnival blew across the windshield and lodged itself beneath the wiper blade. It was as if some larger force (he avoided concepts like fate and destiny as much as possible for obvious reasons) was telling him that there was no way around it. He'd have to go to that carnival if he wanted to make it to the Mortmain Mountains. 

* * *

 

Olaf steeled himself the whole ride for the uncomfortable encounter that was bound to ensue once “Madam Lulu” and Esmé came face-to-face. He'd considered warning the latter about the inevitable eventuality that awaited them, but he couldn't muster up the willpower. _Chicken shit_ , his subconscious hissed at him. 

It was late when they arrived. The carnival looked exactly the same as it had the last time he’d been here. A woman with long dark hair, a nose ring, and a thick accent emerged from the tent. Olaf wasn’t sure who she was, but one thing was certain – it wasn’t Kit. He knew the instant he saw her. He felt relief and disappointment all at once. Still, he reminded himself, it’s probably better this way. He was glad he hadn't mentioned anything to Esmé.

His troupe seemed none the wiser that anything might have been amiss. They entered the tent and Olaf pointedly tried not to think of the last time he’d been in this particular tent, which of course, made him remember the events of that evening with great detail. Some of the furniture looked the same, but the rest felt unfamiliar. Perhaps this replacement Madam Lulu had been here for some time already.

The first time Lulu had referred to him as “My Olaf,” he’d assumed it was just part of her persona and accent. (Whoever she was, she’d been coached well. The accent was flawless). The second time, he attributed it to the wine. But the third time she said it, he watched as her eyes narrowed and her mouth turned up in a smirk and how Esmé practically radiated with possessive jealousy.

 _She’s doing this on purpose_ , Olaf realized. He suppressed the urge to burst into laughter. It was just too much. Esmé didn’t know that Madam Lulu was just a character played by a revolving selection of VFD associates – she genuinely thought that this fortune teller was making a pass at him. He fought Esmé’s insistence that he couldn’t walk on his own. He hadn’t had _that_ much wine, he reasoned as he stumbled to the ground. Or maybe he had.

Two days later, as the car pulled away from the burning carnival, Olaf felt slightly nauseous. Esmé was shaping up to be more ruthless than he’d anticipated. There was no love lost for that plucky school librarian; what bothered him was what would have happened if Madam Lulu _hadn’t_ been replaced? Undoubtedly, if it had been the _real_ fake Madam Lulu, Esmé would have been even more determined to throw her to the lions… He tried not to think about it for the simple reason that he genuinely didn’t know what he would have done. Obviously, he wouldn’t have let her get eaten by lions… how could he? But if he’d circumvented Esmé’s scheming… Olaf shook his head as a headache settled in. It was better to just not think about it at all.

* * *

 

The troupe had been at Mount Fraught for almost a full day when _they_ showed up. The woman with hair and no beard and the man with a beard but no hair. Just being around them gave Olaf the creeps. Esmé, on the other hand, seemed to like them (which gave Olaf serious cause for concern). Olaf was only half-listening to them. Ever since they’d left the Village of Fowl Devotees, he’d lost some of the vigor that fueled his passionate chase of those pesky orphans. This hunt was bringing up too many links to the past… after all, it was supposed to be the Baudelaires who suffered, not the Snickets. Yet every step of this journey seemed to bring the Snickets closer and the Baudelaires further away. His attention was hurtled back to the present when the woman with hair and no beard cast a sinister glance his way and taunted him.

“We did run into one of your old… associates?” Her voice turned up at the last word to let Olaf know she was well aware just how close of associates they’d been. “The Snicket girl,” she added with a malicious smile.

Olaf’s indifference dissolved. He snapped his head up as his face contorted from fear to rage before he remembered he should appear like this information was immaterial. He tried to retain his look of indifference, but even he heard the fear in his voice when he asked, “What did you do with her?”

He could feel Esmé glaring at him. He didn’t look at her.

“She got away,” said the man with a beard but no hair.

Olaf suppressed the desire to sigh with relief.

“But she won’t get far,” added the woman. “She’s in the middle of the mountains…”

“And she’s all alone,” taunted the man.

Olaf tried to control the rapid thumping of his heart and to steady his breathing. He remained silent for the simple reason that he didn’t trust himself to speak. The two sinister associates seemed not to notice, as they resumed their planning of their nefarious plot.

Esmé was still watching him closely, so Olaf mumbled something about feeling sick from the raw toast the baby had served and tried to sneak away to his tent.

Esmé and Hooky followed.

“Darling?”

“I can get the baby to cook you something else?”

“No!” Olaf roared to both of them. “I just… need to, uh… sleep it off.”

“Well—” Esmé started to interject.

“I said no.” Olaf retreated to the tent, closed the flaps, and collapsed onto the ground. He lay on his back, staring up at the jarring red and yellow tent fabric.

Things were rapidly getting out of control. Sure, he told himself, it’s expected for people to try to hurt each other from opposite sides of the schism. Undoubtedly, some people will be hurt, maimed, or killed. But not her. He had always taken elaborate measures to make sure she was never in harm’s way… at least not directly as a result of his own actions.

Outside the tent, his two former mentors and his villainous girlfriend were talking. Esmé was saying that they should have disposed of the last Snicket while they had the chance. The older woman’s gravelly voice said something about how it wasn’t from a lack of trying that they hadn’t.

He knew she was loyal to the noble side – knew she would never be able to look past all of his crimes. So why did it even matter what happened to her, he wondered? He scoffed at his own musings. None of it even mattered – she was with that secret Denouement triplet anyway. She likely never gave Olaf a care or thought anymore.  He thought of the last time they were together, staring up at a tent canvas identical to the one he was looking at now… She had suggested they run away, back to Spain. He halfheartedly wished they had, wondering where they might be now, over eight months later. But he knew better than to think the treachery of VFD and the fire-starters wouldn’t follow them. Nowhere in the world was insusceptible from corruption. Olaf was so tired of the same unending fight. He found he cared less and less about sides and just wanted the pursuit to be over. It was fun, exhilarating even, when it had first begun. Now it was just the same song and dance, played on a never-ending loop.

She was on this mountain somewhere, right now. So close… and yet she might as well be an entire world away. Olaf shivered as a gust of mountain wind blew through the drafty tent. He tried not to think of the sinister associate's words of her being out on the mountain all alone. It was freezing out there. He closed his eyes and imagined someplace warm and image... no, a memory, swam to the forefront of his mind: a beautiful vibrant young woman with honey golden hair and bluish grey eyes dancing happily in a Spanish courtyard on a hot summer night.

“Kit…” Olaf breathed softly. It was the first time he’d spoken her name aloud since he’d said goodbye to her.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title credit to Panic! At the Disco


	7. We'll Wear Our Scars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter occurs moments before the Baudelaires emerge from the submarine at the end of Grim Grotto/beginning of Penultimate Peril.

The troupe climbed out of the submarine and swiftly headed toward the waiting car. Olaf stopped mid-stride when he saw a woman leaning against a taxi a short distance away from his getaway car. She bore a striking resemblance to… but no, it couldn’t be her – this woman was pregnant. But it _was_ her. His stomach clenched uncomfortably as he detoured from the car and walked toward her. He never imagined he'd see her again after that night at the carnival. He was pleased to see that her hair was the bright, honey golden color he remembered. When she saw him, she immediately moved to get into the taxi to avoid confrontation, a word which here means an uncomfortable conversation with a man she’d once loved who left her to pursue a life of crime and villainy. But he reached out and placed a hand on her forearm, not firmly or unkindly but enough to stop her from leaving. Or perhaps it was just his touch that made her pause. Meanwhile, Esmé was leaning against the front passenger door of the car, her arms crossed and her eyes narrowed with loathing.

“Where are you going in such a hurry?” He asked her.

“Well, I’d try not to tell you, but it’s no secret." She sounded so very tired. "Headquarters, the carnival… both burnt. There’s only one place left…”

“Denouement…” The word left a sour taste in his mouth.

Kit’s silence confirmed what Olaf had suspected, but she was right. There was no place else for the volunteers to go. Olaf, or one of his wicked associates, had burned them all. He suddenly couldn’t remember why it had been so important. Not because of his parents - he'd satisfied the need for that revenge with the Baudelaire fire. He still hadn't gotten the fortune but he wondered if he ever would, and even that didn't seem to be a good enough reason anymore. No, the rest of the fires weren't for revenge, although he might have told himself they were at the time. But really, what had prompted him to keep setting fire after fire, other than the fact that it had just become so second-nature?  _Esmé’s damn sugar bowl,_ a voice in the back of his mind growled...

“How did it come to this?” She asked dejectedly.

“You should know... you were there.”

“Olaf...”

“No, Kit! Don’t give me that patronizing tone. Did you know? I'll bet you did. She was your best friend after all.”

“How can you ask me that? How dare you!”

Olaf sighed and rubbed his temple hard enough to turn his forehead red. He didn’t want to have this conversation again. They’d had it more times than he could count. He knew Kit had given Beatrice the darts but he also knew that she was supposed to fire them at... he shuddered just thinking about them. They made Olaf's crimes look like child's play. He knew Kit didn't have anything to do with the murder of his parents. He didn't know why he accused her of being involved. Perhaps it was just another tactic to ensure he pushed her away. 

“I don’t want to do this with you.”

“Then don’t,” she spat as she turned again to leave.

“Wait...” He called and despite herself, she stopped. She wished she could just walk away and never think about him again. She didn’t want to admit it, but part of her would always belong to him. 

“You know why I did it,” he said with a hint of pleading in his voice.

“But you created three more orphans. What did that solve?”

“Beatrice had to pay for what she did.”

“And she did pay. With her life. But what you’ve put those children through. It’s... unforgivable,” Kit finished quietly, subconsciously laying a hand against her protruding stomach.

The gesture did not go unnoticed by Olaf. His mind reeled at the thought of her being pregnant. Immediately, he thought back to before the masquerade ball and the Baudelaire fire. Before he’d tried to push Beatrice off the cliff. The night at Caligari Carnival. How long had it been since that night? Eight months? Nine? He couldn’t remember, but surely it had been longer than that. It felt like he'd been pursuing the Baudelaire orphans forever.  _Has it really not even been a year?_ He thought. He tried furiously to remember exactly how long ago it had been that they'd spent a night together in the faded fortune-telling tent.

A long time ago, before the murder of his parents and shortly after he had asked her to marry him, they had entertained the idea of children. Everyone assumed Kit had wanted them but Olaf hadn't, when the truth was the exact opposite. Olaf had often asked her about starting a family but Kit had been less enthusiastic about the idea. She'd always said she didn't want to raise children into the same lifestyle she and her brothers had grown up into. He'd insisted that any children they had wouldn't have to be in V.F.D., but how could they not, she'd countered. They had both been born into it - it had been the only life they'd ever known. 

He’d heard she was seeing that spineless dweeb Dewey Denouement, but refused to believe that someone so pathetic and timid could have won the affections of Kit Snicket. She was bold and vibrant and untamable. Suddenly, he found himself wishing it _was_ his child, which was preposterous because he'd come to hate children. Thinking about children made him think of the life that was stolen from him. Thinking of children made him think of the Baudelaire orphans and thinking about them made him remember what they were talking about. Kit looked like she wanted to say something else, but he pressed on, cutting her off.

“I was just trying to take back what was rightfully mine in the first place,” Olaf snarled. “You can't tell me they got that rich from _Bertrand_. You and I both know they would never have become so wealthy if she hadn’t...”

“So you punished innocent children for their parents’ mistakes? Mistakes the children had no way of knowing about?”

 “Hey boss!” One of his henchman called. He thrust his hand in the direction of the voice, a wordless command to wait. He didn’t even care enough to turn and see which one of his lackeys it was that had called him.

“What would you have me do? Would you have preferred I destroy their memory of their mother by telling them she was a murderer? I'm cruel, Kit, but I'm not a monster.”

“Of course not! They wouldn’t have been yours to tell, anyway, if you hadn’t...”

Olaf snarled in frustration. “And around and around we go,” he said with disgust as he twirled his finger in the air.

Kit shook her head in defeat. She knew him well enough to know he would never admit when he was wrong.

 _Why is she even wasting her time?_ He thought while looking at the ground. _We will forever be divided. If we weren’t before, we most certainly are now that I’ve killed her brother... Does she even know? She looks so sad. She has to know. If there's one thing I wish I hadn't done..._

He sighed and let his shoulders droop. “The truth is, I’m tired, Kit. I’m tired of it all. The schemes and the henchmen and the fires.”

"Esmé?"

"All of it.”

“Then give it up."

Olaf furrowed his single long eyebrow and curled his lip up. 

"So what's stopping you?" Kit persisted. 

“I don’t know how,” he admitted.

She paused briefly but her next words came without her even thinking about them first.

“I’ll help you. You know I will.”

Olaf jerked his head up but wouldn't meet her eyes. He knew Kit always tried to see the best in everyone, but there was nothing left in him for her to see. He was pure evil and he cared about nothing and no one... well, almost no one. He couldn't stop loving her. He knew - he'd tried. 

“Why?” He asked. “Why don’t you want to kill me after what I’ve done to your family?”

“Because that solves nothing, O.”

Olaf kicked a piece of driftwood to avoid having to look at her. 

"Olaf!" Esmé shouted. She pronounced his name 'oh-laff'. It made him cringe. 

"I'll be there in a minute!" He barked. "Just get in the damn car!"

Kit shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

 “I _am_ angry at you and I could have sought revenge for Jacques,” she supposed. “But where would that leave me? My brother would still be dead and I'd have lost another person I care about. And the truth is, I’m tired of it too. I can’t forget what you’ve done... and there are some things I don't know that I can forgive either. But you're still in there somewhere. I have to believe that. And we have to start somewhere.”

“Kit Snicket, you never cease to amaze me...” He declared softly as he took a step towards her.

The moment his foot left the ground, Esmé’s voice carried from the car. “ _DARLING!_ We need to go... NOW."

“You could come with me,” Kit implored, resting her hand on her swollen belly, "We need you..."

"We?" Olaf questioned. "The volunteers, you mean? Sorry, Kit. I'm not a team player."

"Then what about with just me?" Kit persisted. "There's so much that's happened and... well, some things you ought to know."

Olaf turned toward the car his troupe was waiting in. He felt conflict building up inside him. How badly he wanted to turn away from it all and never look back. But that was a child’s dream. He’d made choices that’d had lasting consequences. Kit was still trying to talk him down off the ledge, a phrase which here means "convince him to leave his life of villainy behind him."

Kit could tell he wasn't convinced. She could see that Esmé wasn't waiting in the car as ordered but standing outside the car tapping her foot impatiently. “It’s her," she declared. "She’s toxic for you. She always has been. She’s poisoned your soul and corrupted your heart. You weren’t always this cold.” 

Still facing the car, he could see Esmé hold out her hands as if to ask what the hold-up was.

“I’m sorry, Kit,” he lamented quietly as he took a step in the direction of his troupe's car. “I’m too far gone.”

He heard her defeated sigh and turned to look at her, but Kit was already walking away toward her brother’s taxi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title credit to I Prevail


	8. This Be The Verse

Kit struggled to breathe, but the medusoid mycelium was attacking her lungs more rapidly than it had the others. It was almost as if the deadly fungus knew there was an additional life within Kit that it could attack – like it was killing two victims for the price of one. Kit realized the problem with this, since giving birth required a lot of breathing on her part.

The Baudelaires had eaten the horseradish apples, so their breathing was not constricted. They offered words of encouragement to her and begged her to eat an apple. But she couldn’t. Not without causing harm to the baby. Even if she didn't, the baby must survive. She had lost everyone who mattered to her. She couldn't lose her child too. _Especially without him knowing the truth_ , she thought. The world was not the same one she remembered. She had almost convinced herself it was better this way - to die on this island and give her... their... child a chance at a different life. She heard a groan wrought with pain from behind her. She twisted slightly so she could see over her shoulder and shuddered as a wave of pain swept over her.

Olaf crawled to her side, clutching his abdomen, his hands stained crimson. He must have been in unspeakable pain, but he seemed not to notice, as all of his attention was directed at Kit. He sat with his back against the raft of books and gently pulled her closer. She lay her head on his lap, her strength nearly gone. He stroked her hair not even aware that his hands, covered in blood, were streaking her hair with red.

He leaned over her and kissed her lightly. 

“I told you. I told you I’d do that one last time.”

Kit coughed and mumbled something he couldn't make out, but he thought he caught the word "wicked" in there somewhere. 

“Kit... You have to know I never, _never_ wanted you to get hurt.”

Klaus turned to Violet and Sunny and whispered, "Maybe he should have thought of that before he threatened to shoot her with a harpoon gun or pretended to be her and exposed the fungus to the entire island."

"Shhh!" Both Baudelaire sisters said in unison. 

"You know me, Kit," he continued. "I've done terrible things, but you know... god I hope you know, I'd never intentionally hurt you. I'd die before I hurt you."

“None of it,” she started but had to stop to cough violently. “None of it matters now. It’s loo late for us... but it isn’t for them.” She said and with one hand, she pointed to the three Baudelaire children with her other hand resting on her belly. “It’s their turn now. Maybe they can salvage what’s left of our once-noble organization and somehow make it whole again. May they learn from our mistakes and not make the same choices we did.”

"I'm pretty sure that's the same thing our parents said about us," Olaf said with a grimace. 

The Baudelaires stood off to the side, feeling as if they were interrupting a very private exchange. It was as though they were looking at a completely different person from the villain who had pursued them relentlessly for months.

“Little fox, please... eat an apple. It can save you.” Olaf winced with each word. He’d grown paler since he’d crawled on the sand to get to Kit.

“I’ve lost too many people I’ve cared for. Jacques, Josephine, Monty... all gone.” She shuddered as another wave of pain hit her. She pointed to the wound on his abdomen still leaking blood and whispered, "And you too..." The mycelium had advanced significantly and her breathing was much more constricted. Her voice was barely above a whisper. They were both deathly pale – Olaf from the harpoon wound to his stomach and Kit from the fungus that was sealing off her airway. Kit knew in that moments they would both die on this island. Olaf gently brushed the sand away from her cheek. Kit sighed softly and leaned her head into his touch. 

"I never forgot you," he murmured. "I'll admit I tried... but it wasn't possible."

“Ol-Olaf. I need..."

"I'm here," he said weakly. Despite the still-bleeding wound, his pain was immaterial. 

"Need to tell...” she coughed and cleared her throat, desperate for the obstruction to hold off just a moment longer. "Dewey..."

The harpoon that had pierced his flesh lay discarded on the sand, but Olaf felt as if it had been launched straight through his heart. It wasn't him she wanted as she lay dying... it was Dewey Denouement. She must not have learned of his death yet. Though it shattered his heart, if telling Dewey something was what kept her alive, then so be it. He looked around frantically for an apple. He would force feed it to her if he had to. He pointed at Klaus and ordered, “Help her! Go get her an apple _now_!”

Klaus barely registered that his arch enemy had given him an order, so eager was he to do anything that would help his friend. He sprung up and was already moving in the direction of the arboretum when Kit protested.

“No!” Kit insisted weakly. “I've accepted my fate. Besides, would you really be so cruel as to cure me and leave me all alone... again? I lost you once, and it nearly destroyed me. If I eat an apple, I'll lose the baby, but I'll survive. But you won't. Those apples won't heal your wound. But I need to tell you." The fungus seemed to halt its advance on her breathing long enough for her to find what little strength she had left. "You need to know. I need to tell you before I can't. Dewey isn't the father,” Kit declared as she clutched her stomach. “She’s yours.”

Olaf’s expression was unreadable for a moment. He stared at Kit's pregnant belly uncomprehending for a long moment. Then he let out a tumultuous wail and clutched Kit tightly to his chest. The blinding sun reflected off of something around Kit's neck. Olaf reached beneath her collar and pulled up a delicate chain. On it was the engagement ring he'd given her another lifetime ago. 

"You... you kept it?" He choked out. "After everything?"

"I never..." Kit winced. "Never fully gave up on you." She squeezed her eyes shut as a wave of pain passed over her. 

"Let me see your eyes," Olaf entreated. 

Kit's eyes fluttered open. 

"The night has a thousand eyes," Olaf recited. Kit managed a rueful smile. It was one of her favorites. 

"Yet the light of a whole life dies when love is done," she finished weakly.

Moments later, with a lot of assistance from Violet and Klaus, Kit held her daughter in her arms for the first and only time. She cradled the baby close to her breast and kissed the newborn's temple. Kit looked at Olaf, who was staring at the newborn in her arms like he'd never seen a baby before in his entire life. He managed a weak smile and mumbled, "Just what the world needs... another Snicket to cause trouble."

"Another Crivelli, you mean," Kit corrected. 

Olaf furrowed his brow in sorrow as he let out a mournful sound. "Please don't leave me, little fox," he wailed. 

"From the look... of that... puncture wound," Kit groaned between painful breaths, "you'll be right behind me."

As Violet knelt to retrieve the baby, Kit clutched her arm and whispered the child's name, softly enough that Olaf didn't hear. Violet nodded and took the baby. She held the tiny infant as Kit took her final rattling breath, the mycelium finally winning the battle for her life. Olaf, as pale as a ghost, held the lifeless Kit in his arms and rocked back and forth while silent tears leaked from eyes squeezed shut - either from pain or grief, the Baudelaires did not know. It was only the second time in his life he’d cried. After all he had put them through, nothing had been more uncomfortable than watching their enemy weep with such profound sorrow. His next words were spoken so softly, the three siblings had to strain to hear him. 

“Man hands on misery to man. It deepens like a coastal shelf. Get out as early as you can... and don’t have any kids yourself.” He sniffed with contempt and gave the newborn in Violet's arms a long, deliberate look. He ran a weak, trembling hand through Kit's hair one more time and finally slumped over, where he lay unmoving. Klaus took a hesitant step forward and checked for a pulse. He turned back to his sisters and shook his head solemnly. Violet held the baby close and murmured, “Welcome to the world, Beatrice Crivelli Snicket.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you have it. My own little headcanon of Kitlaf. 
> 
> Thoughts?
> 
> (Chapter title credit goes to Philip Larkin's poem of the same name).


End file.
